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THE 


NEW ENGLANDERS 


) 



Comedy of the Involution. 


IN THREE ACTS. 


BY E. M. DAYISON. 



FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION 


COLLINS & BROTHER, 

a 

414 Broadway, New York. 


188 2 . 

j 







♦ « 



DRAMATIS PERSONAE. 


FARMER WHITLEY, - - - A Farmer of Lexington. 

PARSON BROWN, -------- A Clergyman. 

Sons of Farmer Whitley. 

SWITCH, - -- -- -- -- - A Schoolmaster. 

LIEUT. MELVILLE, - - An Officer of the British Army. 

COL. SMITH, - - - - 

MAJOR PITCAIRN, - - 

Sergeant—Soldiers—Minute-men. 

MRS. WHITLEY,.- - Wife of Whitley. 

PRISCILLA HOPE, \ T , , 

CONTENT HOPE, j.. Boston g lrls * 

MARY WHITLEY. 


ABEL, } 
JOHN, j 


% 









THE NEW-ENGLANDERS. 



ACT 1st.—S cene 1st. 

Scene — A wooded knoll, trees and rocks, sloping up at 
-back slightly—At left back, a distant vieiv of open 
country below—Enter Farmer Whitley and Parson 
Brown, talking earnestly, left. . \ 

FARMER W. The times are indeed anxious for all 
true lovers of tlieir country. I will not say too, but 
what I look with some feeling of regret and sorrow to 
that mother country from which we are so surely 
drifting. 

PARSON B. It is, indeed, a matter of sorrow ; but 
we must not forget how cruelly he, who rules that mother 
country, has forgotten her children, in all but oppres¬ 
sion. 

FARMER W. Ah ! King George has much to an¬ 
swer for. See, we are even now, in truth, in arms against 
his troops. Yonder minute-man (pointing off left), with 
musket and horn, is but one sign of the approaching 
trouble. 

PARSON B. But who is this ? (looking off right). 

FARMER W. It is that creature, Switch. I have 
my doubts of that man, Brown. There is a sneaking 
way about him I do not like. 





/ 


4 

PAESON B. A harmless schoolmaster, I think. 
Farmer Whitley. 

* 

[Enter Switch, right; long strip of paper pinned to hack . 

SWITCH. Good morning! A tine morning, gentle¬ 
men ! You see a master—a schoolmaster, but Without 
a school. My charges broke from me this morning and 
tied to the Green, to hear the morning courier give his 
news. I cannot hold them to their tasks in such 
rebellious times. 

FAEMEE W. ( taking strip from Switch’s hack )— 
They have left something here. What is it ? 

SWITCH. Ah ! the young scoundrels ! They shall 
smart for this. 

FAEMEE W. Eead it! read it! Parson Brown. 
My old eyes fail me without my bows. 

PAESON B. (reading.) 

Master Tory Switch ! Master Tory Ben 1 
Here’s a last good-bye for good ; 

You’ll have to cluck, mistress Tory hen ! 

For you’ve lost your “ rebel brood.” 

Did you call your children a “ rebel brood,” Master 
Switch ? 

SWITCH. In a moment of anger, gentlemen. 

FAEMEE W. A foolish thing, sir, and one which 
might bring you into suspicion with the Committee of 
Safety. It seems to me that to clear your skirts, good 
mistress tory hen, it would be wise of you to proceed to 
Lexington and join the minute-men. 

SWITCH. Have mercy, gentlemen! Consider my 
calling, which is but a peaceful one. Consider my 
feebleness of body ! I can better serve my country in 
some other way. 

PAESON B. A man can do no better than joining 
with the rest to protect his country from the assaults of 
her enemies ; (laughing) and the imparting of the results 
of your studies to your young charges through the me¬ 
dium of your wand of office, should, by this time, have 
strengthened your feebleness of body. 


FARMEK W. Sir,. you are a disgrace to your 
mother, who was as patriotic a woman as I ever met. 
You deserve to have your name broken over your back 
for your cowardice. 

SWITCH ( theatrically ). You wrong me, gentlemen ; 
you wrong me cruelly. I will proceed immediately to 
Lexington, and join that band of patriots. You shall 
never again have occasion to accuse me of cowardice or 
lack of patriotism. See, I go perchance to meet my 
death. 

[Exit, right. 

FARMER W. I believe he is crazy now. 

PARSON B. We have been too hard upon the 
school-master. He will not shirk his duty, though some¬ 
what slow to rush into danger, which comes, perhaps, 
from a naturally studious and peaceful disposition. 

FARMER W. You may be right ; but I have no 
patience with his like—of which, thank God, there are 
but few, or it might be the worst for us in the black days 
to come, t 

PARSON B. Do you look for any immediate crisis 
in the impending struggle, Farmer Whitley ? 

FARMER W. No, sir—no, not until the Summer. 
I do not think the regulars will move till then; or I 
should get Priscilla and Content back to their father in 
Boston ; but, when it comes, I bid King George be¬ 
ware 1 

PARSON B. (ivalking off.) It has seemed to me 
that your house and barns were too near the road, for 
the proper protection of the stores confided to your 
charge. We will speak of the matter to the Committee 
of Safety. 


[Exeunt, left. 


6 


SCENE 2d— the same. 

[Enter Switch, right. 

SWITCH. There they go—the patriotic clod-hopper 
•and the hypocritical parson. Join the minute-men, in¬ 
deed ! and make myself a butt for the ridicule of all the 
young dirt-grubbers of the neighborhood ! /, who so 

far excel them in all that pertains to real worth of intel¬ 
lect ! No, no, no. But what shall I do ? Where can 
I go ? I am convinced of danger here. I saw three 
horsemen early this morning, down by the cross-roads 
there (■pointing off), and when I was modestly, as be¬ 
comes a man of my profession, endeavoring to withdraw 
myself from their notice, they were down on me, with 
pistols drawn; and, in fear of my life, I told them much 
of matters concerning which they asked me—and truth¬ 
fully, too, for I am always a man of truth. Then they 
rode away with a laugh, and one of them, a handsome 
fellow, was back in a moment, and said : “ Yon damned 
coward ! Here is a letter for Miss Priscilla Hope, at 
Mr. Whitley’s ; give it her, and see you do it when no 
one is by. If you mention it to anv one, or breathe a 
word of passing speech with us, we will hang you to the 
tallest tree in Lexington, when we come out to chase 
you Rebels.” With that, he put spurs to his horse, and 
rode after the others, leaving me in an agony of doubt. 
I have the letter here. I judged them to be British 
officers, by their manner of speech ; and I am sure they 
were out to spy the country before the regulars march. 
What can he have to say to Miss Priscilla P He must 
have met her in Boston. I have it. He means to warn 
her to return to Bostou, and the army will march shortly. 
"What—what shall I do ? What a heart-rending posi¬ 
tion for a scholar aud student to be in. Shall I go to 
Boston ? It will be safer there. But they may take me 
for a spy ; and then to leave Mary, sweet Mary Whitley 
—no, I cannot go. I must trust to my customary dis- 


7 


eretion for safety. (Seats himself on a rock , with head irv 
hands.) 

[Enter John, with musket and powder horn, left. 

JOHN. Hulloa! It is* Switch, dreaming, as usual 
—(dapping him on hack.) Well, Switch ! 

SWITCH. Bu- how you frightened me, Master 

John ! 

JOHN. What news in the village? I have been on 
duty here since sunrise. Is there any news from Bos¬ 
ton, man ? 

SWITCH. No news, Master John—no news. I am 
now on my way to the Green, to find out what the morn¬ 
ing courier brought, and will pass this way on my re- * 
turn. 

JOHN. No need—no need : but thank you all the 

' */ 

same. Abel relieves me in a short space, and I’ll be 
there before you at your rate of traveling. We have 
muster this afternoon. 

SWITCH. Is your sister Mary quite well this morn¬ 
ing, Master John? 

JOHN. Mary! Oh, yes, quite welL I am a-looking 
for the girls now, with my dinner. 

SWITCH. A very fortunate man, you are, Master 
John—very fortunate, with three charming girls to wait 
upon you. 

JOHN. Oh, every one must take their share of duty. 
The girls feels quite important, and are glad, to be of 
any use. Join the minute-men, and you will have the 
same attention. 

SWITCH. But you are all alone out here, and some¬ 
times, in the night-time too; it must be very still and 
fearsome. 

JOHN. All alone—yes; but what of that? The 
trees can’t hurt me. As for the regulars, they will make 
noise enough, I’ll warrant; besides, I am here for them. 

I must to my look-out again. I cannot see the cross¬ 
roads here. 


[Exit John, left . 



8 


SWITCH. Join the minute-men! The same tune 
(looking off down the rond). Can’t see the cross-roads. 
Can he see them up above ? No matter. It was too 
dark this morning. Here come the girls. Sweet Mary ! 
fair flower! How gracefully she moves along ! 

[Enter Mary, Priscilla and Content ; Mary, with 

basket , right.] 

MARY. Now, Content, you should carry the basket; 
you know it is for John. 

CONTENT. For John, indeed! And why because 
it is for John ? You country girls are very simple crea¬ 
tures, Miss Mary. You pick a sweet-heart for a girl be¬ 
fore she can think for herself. For Cousin John, in¬ 
deed ! 

PRISCILLA. Here is the rock, girls! We’ll lay 
the dinner here, and then call this brave young sentinel 
(seeing Switch, who lias been bowing and smirking )— 
Good morning to you, Mr. Switch ! 

CONTENT, (aside.) That horrid Switch ! 

SWITCH. Good morning, ladies. The sweetness of 
the day is rivaled by your looks. 

CONTENT. Oh, what a compliment ! How fine ! 

MARY. Since when are you a poet, Master Switch ? 

SWITCH. Since my imagination was fired by your 
eyes, Miss Mary. 

MARY. Indeed! I’ll weep to put it out. 

SWITCH. I pray you, let it burn. 

CONTENT. And what of my eyes, Master Switch ? 
No matter. Poets are poor creatures, some one says. 
I’d rather wed a soldier than a poet, and much prefer 
the smell of powder to the taste of ink. 

MARY. And so do I. 

(They busy themselves about dinner .) 

SWITCH, (aside.) I’ll join the minute-men. 

PRIS. A man can be a soldier and a poet, too. 


9 


CONTENT. Like one we know. But then lie would 
he perfect, and perfection in a man is worse than naught. 
If he he perfect, we have no cause for quarrel, and so 
no making up ; hut if he he naught, we can scold him 
for it, and then sweetly forgive, and so love on anew. 

MABY. Content, you are too light, my love. 

CONTENT. Then I am like your cakes, and made 
to rise. 

MiVBY. But not well bred. 

CONTENT. What, Mary—a pun? A poor pun 
from you ! Country girls, Miss Mary, should not make 
puns. Leave that for wicked city misses. 

MABY. You’ll ne’er he done. Your tongue is straight 
from Boston, child. 

CONTENT. And vours is tied by country modestv. 
W rite us a sonnet for a country Miss, Mr. Poet; and 
see you put in it a, pair of down-cast eyes, and feet well 
hidden by the holland gown. Paint her with modest 
hood, and homespun apron, too, and sweet, and useful. 
Make her hut glance toward a man, and look away. 
Bring in a dove, or some such timid bird. 

SWITCH. Ladies, I will; I’ll do my best. Give me 
hut time. The theme is apt. [Aside.) Sweet girls, I’ll 
stay in Lexington. 

PBIS. The dinner’s ready, girls. 

MABY. I’ll go. 

CONTENT. No, I— (both run off, left.) 

(Priscilla looks off at back.) 

SWITCH. Now, for the letter. Shall I give it her ? 
No—I’ll leave it on the ground. She’ll see it, when she 
turns—( puts letter on ground.) Ahem ! Good-day, Miss 
Hope. I’m to the Green, to learn the news. ( Going off\ 
rigid.) 

[ Exit. 

PBIS. What—going, Master Switch ? Good-day. 
(Sees letter.) Stop—stop ! You have dropped—( picks 


10 


up letter). Why, ’tis for me. Who can it he ? It’s 
Harry’s hand. ( Opens letter , reading :) 

“ My darling! Meet me at the knoll below yomr 
uncle’s house, at two. Be sure and come. 

“ In haste, your HaTCry.” 

Why, he’ll be shot. What does he mean ? How could 
he come out here? How imprudent of him ! Could he 
not wait until I’m back in Boston, but must come out 
at peril of his life ? And yet I am so glad ! (Heading:) 
At the knoll—that is here. Perhaps he is hiding now. 
Oh, no ; he would not hide. At two, he says, to come— 
at two. It’s almost that—and Abel’s turn on guard !. 
—he is so strict ! What shall I do ? Here they come 1 
(Conceals letter.) 

[Enter Mary, Content and John. 

CONTENT. A horrid, dangerous gun ; and you so 
proud of it! Turn it from me, sir. Will it go off? 

JOHN. Not to hurt you, cousin. The piece is sensi¬ 
ble in that, and keeps its lire till its bid. 

CONTENT. Don’t bid it shoot me, then, or I’ll not 
be content. 

MABY. Why, Priscilla, you look so pale ! Are you 
tired, dear ? 

PHIS. A little tired, Mary. The walk is long 
for city girls. Your turn of guard will soon be over, 
John ? 

JOHN. Yes ; Abel will be here directly. 

CONTENT. Yes, and then we’ll all to the Green to 
see the muster ; and Master John shall show himself 
with his left, right—left, right—a pretty soldier. What’s 
the step ? The goose, I think. Oh, no; it must be 
gander. 

MABY. You are the goose. John, we’ve laid your 
dinner here. 

[ They sib around, 

CONTENT. Here is a bit of flitch, some of Mary’s 
cakes ; and here—see, that is tea—cold tea. Now. 


11 


JOHN. A dinner for the King. [Begins to eat.) 

CONTENT. Oh, anything is good enough for him. 
Don’t gobble, gander. 

PRISCILLA. Tut—tut, Content ; your wit’s too 
sharp. •* 

JOHN (eating). Yes; sharp as nettles. 

CONTENT. But donkeys are not stung. 

JOHN. No, they live upon them ; and so would I 
upon your wit, cousin. 

MARY. Now, that was well said, and a very pretty 
compliment, Miss Saucy. 

CONTENT. Thank you, Johnny. Now, I’m still; 
so you must live upon your victuals. 

JOHN. Did you see Switch, girls, as you came 
along Y 

CONTENT. The poet ? Yes. He stopped in yon¬ 
der hedge, to write a sonnet to our Mary’s eyes. 

MARY. Content! 

CONTENT. Well, so he said. 

PRIS. He has gone to Lexington. 

JOHN. And left the school for the day, I guess. 

CONTENT. The school left him. We passed the 
children on the road ; they all cried out some rhyme, 
and called him “ Tory Ben” —a Tory ! he ! Our Briton 
Tories are proper sort of men, are they not, sister Pris¬ 
cilla ? Lieut. Harry Melville—there’s a Tory. 

PRIS. (getting up and moving off). Content, you are 
very unkind. 

CONTENT (jollowing her). Oh, Priscilla, I am so 
sorry. Forgive me, dear. 

JOHN (rising). What is the matter, now? Surely, 
Priscilla does not- 

MARY. It is only Content’s nonsense, John. 

[Enter Abel, right. 

ABEL. You keep a watchful guard, brother John. 
An army might have passed, and you not know it, with 
all this clatter. 

JOHN. I have kept one eye for the road. 




12 


ABEL. And one and both your ears for Miss Con¬ 
tent, who, I will warrant, has kept them busy. Is it not 
so, Miss Chatterbox ? 

CONTENT. Chatterbox, indeed ! I’ll box your ears, 
for all you are so old and solemn. 

ABEL. Then do it with your hand, and keep your 
tongue for John’s. Priscilla, quiet cousin, have they 
been plaguing you with all their nonsense V 

PHIS. Not more than usually. Are you for guard ? 

ABEL. Yes ; I must take my turn till sunset, and 
John should go to muster now. 

JOHN. Yes ; I’m off. Are you going with me, girls ? 

CONTENT. Yes, yes—we are going. Come, pack 
the basket, Mary. 

PHIS. I’ll bring the basket. The Green will be too 
far for me to walk. 

CONTENT. You stay with Abel, lest a bear should 
eat him up. Come, Master John—now, forward, march. 
Mary, fall in. Is it that you say, goose-stepper ? 

MABY. You know the way, Priscilla, dear. 

PlilS. ’Tis not so far. I’ll stay with Abel for a 

%/ 

while, and watcH the road. 

CONTENT. Now, mind ! no flirting. 

PHIS. Content, how can you ? 

CONTENT. Good-by«, old people ; keep a sharp 
look-out. Now, Master John. 

[Exeunt John, Content and Mary, right . 

ABEL. A happy, thoughtless girl. She would laugh 
aud bandy words, if all the English force were marching 
up the road. And you, Priscilla, are so different—so 
prudent, thoughtful, and will make a wife all that a wife 
should be for any man ; and yet for me, as you have 
said, it cannot be. 

PHIS. Abel, you know we said we would never 
speak of that again. 

ABEL. But am I wanting as a man ? Am 1 not tall 
and strong and honorable ? Have I not reached an age 
to love as you should best be loved, Priscilla ? 


PEIS. You are, indeed, all that, Abel; I know it, 
cousin; but we women, capricious, if you will, cannot 
so place our love as seems, even to ourselves, the best. 
We love, or do not love, and are not even governed by 
our wills. 

ABEL. T will be small matter when those English 
come. I must to the look-out, and you had best turn 
home. 

* 

| Turns toward left, as he turns—enter Melville, right; 
hastily retiring again , at a gesture from Priscilla.] 

PEIS. (carelessly). Is it far to your look-out, Abel ? 

ABEL. Not far— (eagerly , coming hack). Will you 
come with me, cousin ? ’T is right above here, and you 
may see the road for miles, stretching out toward Boston 
through Woburn. 

PEIS. And can you.see this knoll, and the bit of 
road below ? 

ABEL. Not here ; but where the road comes out 
from by the hill, you can see it, up to Lexington. 

PEIS. (seeming to hesitate). No; I’ll not go with you 
to-day. Some other day I’ll come and sit with you. 
I am tired with my walk, and must get a nap to rest 
me. 

ABEL. Y r ou look pale, dear. Shall I walk home 
with you ? 

PEIS. And leave your guard ! No, no—I am not 
so weak as that, Mr. Abel, if I am a city girl. I will 
not take you from your duty. Who knows, they may 
be almost here—those horrid regulars. John, too, was 
cpiite a time at his dinner, and you have dallied here 
with me. 

ABEL. Yes, I must go. 

[Exit Abel, left. 

PEIS. He is gone. 

[Enter Melville, right. 

Oh, Harry 1 Be careful. 


14 


MELVILLE. Priscilla, clear ! Why, how you trem¬ 
ble ! 

PEIS. Why did you come out here ? Why did 
you come ? If lie should see you, he would shoot 
you, Harry. 

MEL. Did I not shoot him the first. 

PEIS. But you have no arms. Why did you come ? 
How foolish of you ! 

MEL. I have a musket on my horse. Who is this 
stern provincial, Priscilla, whom I ought to be so much 
afraid of ? 

PEIS. He is my cousin, sir—Mr. Abel Whitley. 

MEL. Your cousin, eh ! I say, Priscilla, he does 
not presume upon his relationship, does he? If I 
thought he did- 

PEIS, {laughing). Oh, no ; he is very sedate. 

MEL. That is well. (Aside) —What a fool he must 
be. (Aloud) —And what is he doing out here, Pris¬ 
cilla, with his musket and powder-horn, and such a 
martial air ? 

PEIS. He is on guard—a minute-man. 

MEL. On guard !—a minute-man ! A rebel, then— 
ha-lia! He will not be so long. And you, little rebel, 
have you been thinking of me all the time that you 
have been away? 

PEIS. Of course, I have. I have your ring, you see. 
I have kissed it every night and morning. 

MEL. Have you—really ? Why, then, you are a 
darling, little rebel. But, Priscilla, we have not time 
to talk this way now. I must tell you something, dear, 
of the greatest importance. 

PEIS. How serious you are ! What is it ? Tell 
me quick, and laugh again. 

MEL. Be prepared, and do not scream. But, first, 
promise me not to mention to any one a word of 
what I am about to tell you. 

PEIS. I promise. What can it be ? 

MEL. I have come for you. 



PRIS. Come for me, Harry ! What do von mean ? 

MEL. Yes—come for you ; I have another horse in 
the woods, below the cross-roads, and you must meet 
me there as soon as possible. 

PRIS. Meet you there ? 

MEL. Y es. I will ride down, and you walk slowly, 
on to the field above. As soon as you reach the 
woods, turn back to the cross-roads, and then away for 
Boston. 

PRIS. But, Harry, why ? I will not elope. I did 
not think that you would ask me to do such an un- 
maidenly thing. Is it not enough that I should meet 
you here alone, but you must wish to take me off against- 
my will ? 

MEL. Against your will ! 

PRIS. Yes—it would be against my will to go with 
you, alone, to Boston. Besides, I will not go. You 
seem to think that we provincial girls must obey 
your commands, without even being persuaded. No, 
I’ll not go. We shall be back—Content and I—in but 
a fortnight now, and then you may see me every even¬ 
ing, sir. Come, let us talk of something else, since you 
have little time to stay. 

MEL. Priscilla, you do not understand. You must 
go, child. I do not ask you to elope, my love. I’ll 
put you in your father’s house in Boston before they sit 
down to tea. You must go back ; it is not safe out here. 
(A.sidp )—I must not tell her ; she might betray us by a 
word or look.. 

PRIS. Not safe out here ! And why not, sir ? I 
have my uncle, and Abel, and John, to protect me 

from-from what ? There is nothing to protect me 

from. 

MEL. I never thought you so obstinate. When I 
assure you that I will take you home to your father 
without harm —without so much as bruising one of 
those little fingers, and that this very evening—is it not 
best that you should go? Do you not trust me ? Did 



16 


% 


you not promise, Priscilla, to trust me in all tilings ? 
And here, the very first time, you hesitate. Now, I am 
in earnest, child. Something is about to happen, per¬ 
haps this very night, which makes it most imperative 
that you should go to Poston now with me. 

PEIS. Happen ! What can happen? 

MEL. I cannot tell you, darling; but there will be 
something 

PEIS, {wildly.) Oh, I know; the army is coming 
out. 

MEL. Hush ! hush ! dear—some one will hear you. 

PEIS. And you are coming, too, and may be killed ! 
They will fight, I know they will. Abel arid John, and 
all—they are so brave. Why should they come V We 
are the same people, the same blood. Why—why must 
we fight and kill each other, Harry ? 

MEL. Don’t, dear! We are ordered, and must obey. . 
I do not think the rebels will stand, Priscilla. We will 
but march out to Concord Green, burn some of their 
stores, and back again. 

PEIS. You do not know them, sir. They will stand ; 
I am sure of it. 

MEL. Then the better reason, dear, that you should 
go with me. Come, quick—decide, Priscilla. Will you 
come ? Won’t you come, darling? I ask it—I beg it of 
you. 

PEIS. And leave them all !—it would be so coward¬ 
ly ! No, Harry, I must stary here ; there will be no 
danger for a woman. I could never look my uncle and 
relatives in the face again, should I leave them now 
when trouble comes. And Content, too—how can I 
leave her ? It is selfish to ask me. 

MEL. But consider, Priscilla. In war-time, there is 
safety for no one. I know our soldiers ; if the provin¬ 
cials offer any resistance, they will burn and ravage 
everything. You must come. Come—we must be off. 
We must ride fast to reach town in time. Come. 


17 


PEIS. No, Harr y—no. Kiss me once, darling, and 

go, if you must; but I must stay. Good-bye. 

* 

[Hr takes her in liis arms. J 

MEL. Good-bye, darling. [Holding her off and looking 
at hrr.) Once more—won’t you come with me, darling? 
PEIS. No—no. Go—go quickly. 

[Enter Abel, left, hastily , as Melville hounds off, right . 

ABEL. Priscilla! Not gone! What! A red-coat, 
by the eternal. ( Cocks his gun, and aims off, rigid.) 
PEIS. Abel, don’t fire—don’t. 

ABEL (loivering muzzle of gun.) Who is it, Priscilla? 
Come, quick, girl, speak. 

PEIS. ( hesitating). It’s-it’s a friend. 

ABEL, (sound of hoofs is heard). An officer! I know 
him by the horse. ( Raises gun and fires.) 

[A shout of derision is heard.] 

“ PEIS. You have killed him. (Staggers.) 

ABEL. Missed him, confound it ! ( Turns). Pris¬ 

cilla, what is the matter ? 

[Rushes to her; she waves him off, saying , “ You have 
killed ”- and falls fainting on the rock.] 

ABEL (trying to raise her.) Priscilla ! Priscilla, 
darling ! (starting up). By Heaven, she must have 
known him. She loves him. (Picking up musket , he 
stands looking at her a moment.) And yet I did my 
duty. 


CURTAIN. 



18 


ACT II. 

Scene.—Farmer Whitley’s Kitchen—A Neiv-England 
Farm-house Kitchen—wide fire-place, dresser ■ slaw- 
bank, settee , etc.; door with sockets for wooden bars — 
two doors left—window with heavy wooden shutters 
cut with loop-holes. Time — Evening of same day . 
Farmer Whitley and Abel are discovered sitting 
before fire, Abel cleaning musket.. 

ABEL. I tell you, father, I cannot be mistaken ; it 
was an officer of the regulars—Lieut. Melville. I saw 
him, when I went to Boston for the girls, at Uncle 
Hope’s. 

FABMEB W. Your Uncle Hope inclines too much 
to these Tories, Abel. I hear he has them often at his- 
house. Do you think he was out to spy, this young 
sprig, or was it but to see Priscilla that he came ? 

ABEL. At first, I thought of my watch and orders 
most, and so I fired ; but when I turned and saw her 
fainting there, I thought of her alone—that he had come 
out to see her—that she loved him. It seemed to me 
before that she had been eager to be rid of me, so I put 
the two together. 

FABMEB W. Did you. question her ? 

ABEL. I could not say a word ; but when I had 
seen her safely home, I turned back, and resolved out 
there, alone, to say nothing of it to any one, until I had 
your advice. 

FABMEB W. The question, to my mind, lies here 
—either this officer was there to see Priscilla,, or he had 
come for information of our readiness, and knowing her 
in Boston, as you say, but stopped to pass “ good day,’* 
when you came on him. If he came to meet her, and 
she loves him, it is the way of women, and is of import¬ 
ance for Brother Hope to know, concerning us but 
little. 


19 


ABEL. To me it is important, father. 

FARMER W. Well, yes, to you ; though you are 
man enough, my hoy, to give a woman all her way of 
heart, and are not one of those to mope and mourn be- 
cause that heart is not for you. 

ABEL. Yes, I am man enough, but still ’tis hard. A 
regular too. 

FARMER W. But if lie was not there for her, he 
came before the others of his hireling tribe, and they 
will follow soon. This, it is most peremptory that we 
should know, and know it we must, and immediately ; 
that should there be anything in my suspicion, we can 
straightway communicate with the Committee of Public 
Safety in Concord town (rising); therefore, I think I 
will call the girl, and cross-examine her. 

ABEL (rising). I’ll to the barns; there are some 
** chores” to do. ( Rests gun in corner by fire-place.) 

FARMER W. No—you stay here. 

“ ABEL. But, father-- 

7 

FARMER W. Stay here, sir—face it out. Are you 
afraid to hear a woman loves another ? 

ABEL. But, since I love her, how can I stay and 
calmly hear it from her very lips. 

FARMER W. This is not like you, Abel. I have 
always esteemed you a man of character and determina¬ 
tion, and not a silly boy, to dread a disappointment in 
love. Besides, I want you here to bear me in the 
facts. 

ABEL (sitting doivn , looking into fire). Well, call her, 
then. 

FARMER W. ( opening door , left.) Priscilla! Niece 
Priscilla ! Come here, my child. 

[Enter Priscilla, left. 

PRISCILLA. Yes, Uncle ? 

FARMER W. ( closing door.) Sit down a moment, 
dear. 

PRIS. ( nervously.) What is it, Uncle John ? 



20 


FARMER W. Priscilla, i\bel tells me, lie saw yon 
this noon with a gentleman—an officer- 

PRIS. (quickly interrupting.) Did Abel tell 3 on that? 
It was a friend of mine. 

FARMER W. Who was this friend ? Remember, 

* * 

you are in my charge during your A T isit here, and must 
consider me in your father’s stead, telling me everything, 
my dear, as you would him. 

PRIS. It was a friend of father’s, too—a gentleman 
from Boston. 

FARMER W. An officer of the regulars, was it not, 
Priscilla ? 

PRIS. Yes, he is an officer. I met him at home. 
But why are you so serious, Uncle V And Abel sits 
there, without a word. Surely, it is not a crime for me 
to meet a friend upon the road, and stop to speak with 
him! 

FARMER W. No, dear—no crime ; we do but ask. 

PRIS. And Abel, too, must up and fire at him, as 
if he were a thief. 

ABEL. My orders bade me so ; he is an enemy. 

PRIS. An enemy ! And he without an arm of any 
kind, except his sword. 

ABEL. He had a musket on his horse. 

FARMER W. My dear, orders must be obeyed. 
Abel did rightly, and as I should have done, had I been 
there. 

PRIS. Then you are both cruel, bloodthirsty men, 
and bring the war upon yourselves. 

FARMER W. Hush—hush, Priscilla. You are un¬ 
reasonable. You do not know what you are talking 
about, my child. But this young officer—did you meet 
him by appointment, or did he pass by chance and stop 
to speak with you ? 

PRIS. He met me there— (aside) —What can I say ? 

FARMER W. By appointment ? 

PRIS. (hesitating.) Yes, by appointment. 

FARMER W. (with sigh of relief.) Ah 1 I am glad. 



21 


ABEL (starting up). By appointment—you! Priscilla! 
You, wliom I have always thought the very model of a 
girl, to meet a mau, and an officer, by appointment, 
all alone out in the woods ! And I, who love you so, 
have never ventured even to press your hand ! You 
love him, then ? 

PIUS. I did not sav so, Abel. 

ABEL. But you do—you know you do. 

FARMER W. Abel ! Be a man. Do not give way 
in such a boyish fashion. Then he rode out here—this 
young regular—ten miles for you, and nothing else, 
Priscilla ? 

PRIS. Only for that. What should he come for 
else ? 

FARMER W. He told you nothing about the army 
—whether they were coming soon? Come, dear, tell 
me ; it is most important that we should know. 

PRIS. No, nothing ; he told me nothing. 

FARMER W. Child, you have taken a load of anxi¬ 
ety off my mind. Then it is a love-scrape after all, and 
concerns but you and Brother Hope ; for I must write 
him of it, Priscilla, and let him know how quiet Miss 
Hope has admirers, who risk their necks for her sweet 
sake. Though I think you were wrong to have an 
appointment, and should not let my Mary junket around 
in that fashion, still I am greatly relieved to find that is 
the worst of it. 

ABEL. The worst of it!—the worst of it l What 
could be worse than this ? I had rather the regulars 
would march this very night. But when they come, 
there’s one provincial here will give his blood to drive 
them back to the sea, and to their Tory King. 

PRIS. Don’t, Abel—don’t; I am so sorry, Abel. 
FARMER W. Abel ! 

ABEL. I mean it. Never fear ; we shall see which 
is the better man, a hired cut-throat, or a freeman bat¬ 
tling for his sod. 


22 


FARMER W. Yes, Abel; we’ll drive them back and 
fight them till they yield, for ice will never. But, my 
boy, you show bad blood. In time of war, as in time of 
peace, indeed, the hatred of one man for another is base 
and most disgraceful to our better nature. All personal 
feeling must be laid aside. The cause—our cause of 
freedom—can alone justify the means by which, I fear, 
we must obtain it. 

PRIS. (aside.) And I, who am betraying them. But 

if I tell them now, they’ll be prepared, and then a 
battle. 

ABEL. Priscilla, I beg your pardon. Forgive me, 
cousin. I forgot myself and what was due to you. 

PRIS. Don’t beg my pardon, Abel. 

ABEL (looking at her for a moment). I must close 
the barns. 

[Exit, hack. 

FARMER W. You cannot care for our Abel, then, 
Priscilla ? 

PRIS. No, uncle, dear. I know his worth, but I do 
not, cannot love him as he should be loved. 

FARMER W. I am sorry, very sorry, for his sake ; 
but in such matters, shall give Mary her own wa}% and 
therefore, cannot blame or seek to persuade you. 

[Enter Mrs. Whitley, Mary, Content and John, left . 

CONTENT. By the fire—come sit round. Auntie, 
you sit here, right in the middle. Auntie is going to 
tell a story, to weave a tale. I’ll get the spinning- 
wheel. 

MRS. W. No, no—you careless child, you will break 
my yarn. 

MARY. Priscilla, dear, has father been scolding 
you, you look so grave ? 

PRIS. No, Mary ; your father is too good to scold 
any one. 

FARMER W. But she deserves a scolding, naughty 
girl. 


23 


MARY. What has Priscilla done ? 

CONTENT. Come, come—you three. Uncle, you 
sit here by me. 

FARMER W. Well, where shall I sit? 

CONTENT. Here—right here. I want to hold your 
hand when anything horrible comes. 

JOHN. Take hold of mine. 

CONTENT. No, no—I have no confidence in you,. 
Master John. Now, begin a real story, mind! about 
the Indians. 

MRS. W. Let me see. I know so many stories 
about those dreadful Indians. 

CONTENT. Something that happened to yourself. 
Were you not carried off some tune? 

MRS. AY. (laughing.) No, dear. What shall I tell 
them, John ? 

FARMER W. Hum ! Tell them about the pet pig. 

MARY. Oh, yes. Content has not heard that. 

CONTENT. But that is not about the Indians, unless 
you call them pigs ; but a pet Indian—ugh ! 

JOHN. % Hush—you will see. 

MRS. W. Well,, children, when I was quite a little 
girl, we lived at Dem field, as you know, close by the 
Indian frontier. It was long after the great Indian war, 
and though the Indians were peaceable enough, still, at 
times, they would come in small bands, even as far as 
Deerfield, on the war-path, with horrid paint and feath¬ 
ers, and burn and ravage in the night, and be away be¬ 
fore the morning broke. Do you remember the Bentons, 
John, how they w'ere all murdered in their beds one 
night, all except little Susie ? She we never saw again. 

FARMER AY. Y es ; it was terrible—the wretches. 

CONTENT (shivering). Bur-Give me your hand, 

Uncle. (John offers his.) Not yours, sir. 

MRS. AY. Your mother, Content, and I were little 
girls then, and our father had given us a little pig, a 
cunning little runt, of which we had taken the best care, 
and were very fond of, as you may believe. At last it 



24 


liad grown so large, that it was no longer a tit pet for 
little girls, and father had determined it must be killed ; 
but we, of course, were quite heart-broken at the very 
thought, and made such an outcry, that father, laughing, 
said the pig should live, but privately resolved to kill it 
in the night, and in the morning we might cry and have 
it over with. That very evening there had come to the 
house some wandering Indians, to whom your grand¬ 
mother had given supper, as was her custom. Pris., 
your mother, child, and I had peeped at them, and 
watched them leave with great joy—Indians were our 
greatest terror—so when we went to bed and the lights 
were out, we lay and trembled there, like little silly 
fools, and could not sleep. Your mother, who was 
older than I, and braver, began to tell me stories, and 
recall those we had heard, about the Indians, until 
every sound became, to our imagination, a ringing war- 
whoop, and every shadow a hanging scalp. Suddenly, 
there arose outside a cry, a shriek, such as my ears— 

(A mourn ful cry is heard ; all start up ; John seizes 
musket; Content covers her face.) 

• t 

FARMER W. What was that? We must see. 

(Cry is heard again.) 

CONTENT. Oh ! what is it ? 

MRS. W. Hush ! hush, my dear. It is nothing— 
an owl, perhaps. 

(The cry is heard again, nearer and more mournful.) 

JOHN. Pooh ! it is nothing. I will go and see what 
the trouble is. 

MARY. No, no. Stop him, father ! 

[John goes toward door; as lie reaches it , it is thrown 
open , and in rushes Switch, in horrid plight , hair 
in disorder , dtc.] 


25 


> 


SWITCH. Indians ! Indians ! Save me Oil, please 
save me ! 

FARMER W. Indians ! Nonsense—there are no 
Indians for an hundred miles from here. 

SWITCH. There are—there are ! I was attacked, I 
say. They were about to scalp me, when some one 
came to my rescue, and they fled. Bar up the door— 
they will be here directly. 

FARMER W. But where is your preserver ? 

[Enter Abel. 

ABEL. Here he is ; and the worst I saved him from 
was a wetting in the pond. The boys had caught him» 
and were about to duck him for a Tory, as he is. They 
had dressed themselves with skins and feathers, and I 
shrewdly suspect, had hidden themselves for the purpose 
of securing him. 

FARMER W T . They seem to have succeeded. 

* SWITCH (aside). I’ll be revenged for this. 

MARY. How cruel of them ! They ought to be 
ashamed—to frighten us so. 

JOHN (who has been laughing till he can hardly stand). 
Oh ! oh ! I would I had been there. What fun ! Who 
were they, Abel ? 

CONTENT. Stop laughing, you silly goose. See! he 
had his gun. 

ABEL. I do not rightly know who they were ; they 
ran so fast I could not catch them, though I followed 
iar. 

CONTENT. And your cry, Auntie—was that a don¬ 
key, too ? 

MRS. W. No, dear, though it had four legs ; it was 
our poor little pig. We had better now all turn to bed. 
We country folks must rise early, and you city misses 
should do so, too, and bring some roses to your cheeks. 
Priscilla looks pale and tired. 

PRIS. Yes, I am tired. Come, Content. Good-night 
all ! 


26 


FARMER W. Good-night, young ladies. Kiss yonr 
old uncle, Content. 

[All say good-night ; exeunt ladies r left. John bars door. 

SWITCH. Mr. Whitley, I feel so shaken and doubt¬ 
ful of myself that I will ask you to keep me for to-night, 
if you will be so good. My nerves are quite paralyzed 
by this shock. 

FARMER IV. Oh, certainly, Switch—stay here 
John will give you a shake-down. 

[Exit, left. 

JOHN. Now that’s all safe. I will open the window 
for the air. How finely you were fooled, Switch ! Come 
in ; I will look out for you. Good-niglit, Abel. 

SWITCH. Good-night, Mr. Abel. I trust your 
dreams will be most happy ones. Perhaps you may 
dream of a certain young lady, eh, Mr. Abel ? 

ABEL ( impatiently ). Good-night, 1 Get out. 

[Exit John and Switch, right. 

A very weak shoot that Switch.. 

(Sits looking into fire. As he sits , moon rises.) 

Then she loves another, and all my love, my almost 
deference, has been wasted—thrown away—for the sake 
of a smart coat and martial air. I would I had hit him 
—the English hound-—but I will have my turn yet, vdien 
we come to blows. I will pick him out in the first fight 
we have, and we shall see this time whether I miss or 
not. But no. Father is right, and she is right ; I will 
not nourish my resentment with my ill-luck in woman’s 
love ; they cannot, as she says, love as they should, and 
who would have such love as that ! WTiat is a woman 
worth, after all ? No, I will forget her—and yet—no, 
no. Hereafter I will have my country for my sweet¬ 
heart, and as a man would give his life for her, so will I 
give my life, if need be, for my country’s good, liberty 


27 


smd happiness. {Sits for n while.) Pooli—pooli! What 
thoughts ! I’ll go to bed. AVliat a moou ! Cold, cold, 
as her love for me. 

[Exit, right. 

(Moon shines brightly across the jl >or. Slow music). 

(Enter Priscilla, left. 

PRIS. I cannot go to sleep. To think that I should 
be here—an American girl, who should have freedom in 
my very blood—and know that the regulars are march- 
ing—now—up the road—and yet I stand and do not 
speak, and bid them rise to arms ! Oh, it is shameful. 
But no—it’s better so. Did I arouse them now, they 
would be prepared, and then who knows P He might 
be killed, or Abel, or John—perhaps them all. And if 
I keep his secret, the regulars will come and take the 
- arms and stores, and stop all trouble for a time, at least. 
( Walks up and down.) Why did he tell me ? It were 
better not know. Hark! What’s that ? Nothing—the 
wind. Ha-ha! I thought I heard them coming. Per¬ 
haps they will not come. But no—he said they would. 
No, I cannot bear it. I cannot keep the secret. I’ll 
go. ( Hashes to the door — -just then noise of hoofs is heard.) 
What is that—a horse ? ( Rushes to luindoiu.) A man 
on liorse-back. How he comes ! 

(Hoof beats come nearer and stop.) 

VOICE (outside windoiv). Up—up ! To arms ! The 
regulars—the regulars are coming ! Up—up ! 

(Noise of hoofs disappearing.) 

PPiIS. Thank God, I kept his secret. 

[Enter Abel, right. 


ABEL. What, Priscilla, you here ! 


28 


PEIS. 

day. 

ABEL. 

PEIS. 

hear ? 

ABEL. 
Up—up ! 


The} 7 are coming, Abel. He told me so, to- 

He told you—this officer ? 

Yes, Abel—Lieut. Melville. Did you not 

* • 

Yes, I heard the alarm. Father ! John t 
Hurrah ! The regulars are coming ! 


[Enter Farmer W., left; John, right , half dressed r 
putting on boats. 

JOHN. Hurrah! (Seizes musket). 

EAEMEE W. The regulars! We must to Lexing¬ 
ton, boys ; we’ll give them a warm reception, and show 
them what Yankee blood is made of. King George, 
take your last look upon your Colonies to-night. They 
are yours no longer ; we are free men from this day 
forth. 

JOHN. Hurrah! But you must not go with us, 
father. You must stay here. What shall we do if any¬ 
thing should happen to you ? You are too old. The 
youngsters are enough to whip these regulars. 

PEIS. No, Uncle, you must not go. Stay here. 

EAEMEE W. Stay here ? What nonsense ! Stay 
here, when that moment for which I have been waiting 
half my life has now, at length, arrived ? No, no. You 
do not know your old father, boys, to even hint at such 
a thing. (Goes to dresser for musket.) Old Bess has served 
me well before to-day, and she shall speak again, or I 
have forgotten how to prompt her to her work Did 
you clean the old guu, John, as I bade you ? 

JOHN. All clean, father. 

FAEMEE W. Come, now, the powder-horn. (Puts 
it on.) 

[Enter Mrs. W., Mary and Content, left. 

MAEY. Father, you are not going with them ! Stop 
him. Tell him not to go, mother. 

CONTENT. No, Uncle John—don’t go. 


29 


MRS. W. Your father knows best, children ; lie has 
had experience, and will restrain the younger blood. 
John, may God be with you, and with you, my boys. 
Don t flinch, but meet these soldiers with a firm unyield¬ 
ing front, as true Americans. Don’t wait; they will be 
soon here, and—I—I—cannot bear it. 

ABEL. Good-bye, mother. 

JOHN. Good-bye. Good-bye,. Content, darling. 

CONTENT. Good-bye, John. I would I were a 
man. 

JOHN. But I do not, Content. 

CONTENT. You horrid boy. 

(Daring latter part of this scene, moon has set, giving place 

to the dawn, now just breaking. Knocks are heard. John 

opens door. Enter three Minute-men.) 

1st M. M. Come, Mr. Whitley, Abel, John! Are 
you going to the Greets? 

JOHN. We are going, never fear. Good-bye, all. 

[Exit John, with Minute-men. 

FARMER W. Mary, when we are gone, bar up the 
door and windows, and get you all up-stairs below the 
wainscoting, should you hear any shots, and stay there. 
Now mind me all, you remember we arranged it, wife. 

MRS. W. Yes, John. Good-bye. 

OMNES. Good-bye. 

ABEL. Come, father, come. (Going.) 

FARMER W. (Going.) My children ! May God 
bring us all safely through this day. 

[.Exeunt Farmer W. and Abel. 

MRS. W. Now, children, we must close up every¬ 
thing. Come, Priscilla, you and I will go up-stairs, 
Content and Mary will shut up here. 

[.Exeunt Mrs. W. and Priscilla, left. 


% 


30 


(Content and Mary begin to bar door and close shutters; 

enter Switch, right.) 

SWITCH. Let me assist you, ladies. 

MABY. Wliat ! you liere ? 

CONTENT. Why, you despicable man. Did you 
stay behind ? 

SWITCH. It was but to protect you that I sta} r ed. 
I cannot fire a musket, else would,I rush to the rescue 
of our homes. I will be of more use here ; indeed I 
will, ladies. 

CONTENT. To protect us ! If you cannot fire a 
musket, how can you protect us ? We can take care of 
ourselves, thank you, Mr. Switch. But, since you are 
here, we must take care of you also, I suppose. Take 
hold and shut these up. Mary, we will watch him. ( Sits 
down.) I am not for work when there is a man around. 
Now, go to work, sir. 

SWITCH ( Crawling cautiously to uindow.) Is there 
any one without ? 

CONTENT. Oh, you wretched, wretched coward. 
No, there is no one without. 

SWITCH. I was afraid- 

CONTENT. Don’t tell us ; we know you are afraid. 

( Switch goes to work trembling , drops bar , &c.) 

MABY. Come, Content, we must help him ; he can 
never do it. 

CONTENT. Yes, I suppose we must, though for my 
part, I like to see him shake. 

( They assist him.) 

SWITCH. Thank you, Miss Mary, sweet Miss Mary. 
I have the sonnet written here. 

MABY. The sonnet! what sonnet ? I want no son¬ 
net now. 

CONTENT (laughing). He means the sonnet, yester¬ 
day. Don’t you remember, Mary ? 



31 


MARY. How can you laugli, Content ? And as for 
you, Ben Switch, I want no sonnet now, nor never, from 
you. I despise you, sir, for your cowardice and want of 
patriotism. 

CONTENT. For his every thing, why don’t you say^ 

SWITCH. But Miss Mary, I will go; I will take a 
musket now. Have mercy. I love you so. 

CONTENT. Oh, mercy I I must go. A love-scene 
now. 

MARY. Mr. Switch, you insult me, sir. I have a 
mind to turn you out the door. 

SWITCH {trembling). No, Miss Mary—no, I beseech 
you ; I will not give you any trouble ; let me stay. I 
have not yet recovered from the shock of my attack last 
night. Let me stay, Miss Mary. 

CONTENT. Let him stay, Mary. 

MARY. Well, you may stay,, but keep you here be¬ 
low. Come, Content, we must help the others, dear. 

[.Exeunt Mary and Content. 

SWITCH. Why did I not go to Boston ? They will 
be here directly, the red-coats. No ; I am glad I stayed. 
Ah ! so you despise me, Miss Mary—me, the scholar 
and poet. But my turu shall come ; I will have my re¬ 
venge for all these insults. I will betray them, if I can 
do so without danger to myself. They have stores in the 
barns, I know. My turn shall come. But—oh, the 
awful peril of this moment I Perhaps they will kill me 
immediately—( knocks }—what is that? {Knocks.) 

( Trying to conceal himself.) 

Here they are ! I am a dead man. 

AY)ICE. Open 1 open 1—it is 1—it is Parson Brown. 

SW ITCH. Parson Brown l 

(Seizing musket , he opens door .) 

[Enter Parson B. 

Good morning ! good morning, Parson Brown; we 
are barred up, you see. I am here for the protection of 
the women-folks. 


32 


PARSON B. To protect them—you—where are the 
others ? 

SWITCH. Mr. Whitley and the boys have gone up 
to Lexington Green, to meet these miserable mer- 
oenaries. 

PARSON B. Yes, yes—I know ; but the others, the 
women—where are they ? 

SWITCH. Them I have up-stairs, and carefully con¬ 
cealed, lest they come to any harm. Do you think there 
will be a battle, Parson Brown ? 

PARSON B. I do not know. I hope not—trust not, 
but am sorely afraid there may be trouble. Both sides 
are determined. The regulars do but obey commands, 
and our men will not, I fear, permit them to carry out 
their object without resistance, and that meaus blood¬ 
shed. 

SWITCH. . Are they near ? 

[ Enter Mrs. W., Mary and Content. 

MRS. W. Parson Brown ! How glad I am to see 
you. Will there be trouble ? 

SWITCH. Why—why did you leave your shelter ? 

MRS. W. Our shelter, sir ? We have been in no 
shelter. 

PARSON B. Why, you'-told me, Switch- 

SWITCH ( interrupting ). I must bar the door. 

PARSON B. No, stop! Mrs. Whitley, the British 
troops will be here directly, and are now but a mile dis¬ 
tant. I do not look for any battle, and sincerely pray 
that they may return without any hostilities. I would, 
therefore, counsel you not to keep your doors and win¬ 
dows barred, which will but breed suspicion in their 
minds; but to throw everything open for their inspec¬ 
tion, and trust yourselves to an all-seeing Providence for 
protection, believing that our Heavenly Father will turn 
the minds of these men from all outrage to the innocent. 

MRS. W. But the stores ! You know we have some 
of the stores in the barn, entrusted to our care by the 
Committee. 


# 



33 


PARSON B I know it—I know it. 

MRS. W. They are hidden under the hay. 

SWITCH (a.>ide). Here is my chance. Now, Miss 
Mary and the rest of them shall pay me well. 

PARSON B. We must trust to their not coming 
upon them. 

MRS. W. But if they question us. 

PARSON B. In that case, I think—I believe it will 
not be wrong to answer no, and deny all knowledge of 
their possession. 

MRS. W. And tell a deliberate falsehood ? 

PARSON B. No ; but I fear we must prevaricate. 
^ e will be forgiven, for the cause is just. 

CONTENT. Down with the bars, Mary. 

MARY. No ; let Mr. Switch. 

SWITCH. But then we shall be entirely unprotected 
from the missiles of the enemy. 

PARSON B. It is better so ; take them down, Mr, 
Switch; we can restore them should there be need. 

[ Enter Priscilla. 

PRIS. They are here ! The Regulars are here 3 
(All start expectant. Knocks are heard.) 

VOICE. Open ! open in the King’s name. 

PARSON B. I will open the door. Do not be fright¬ 
ened ; they will be gone directly. 

[Parson B. opens door—enter Major Pitcairn, Col, 
Smith, Lieut. Melville, Sergeant and Soldiers. 

COL. SMITH. Ladies, we are sorry to disturb you. 
Sergeant, take these men. 

(Sergeant and Soldiers seize Switch and Parson B.) 

Now, you, sir—are you the master of the house ? 

SWITCH. No, sir—no ; I am nobody; I mean no 
harm. I am a school-master—a poor, harmless peda¬ 
gogue—and a Tory—yes, I am a Tory. 

LIEUT. M. A Tory !—he a Tory ! What a Tory 3 


34' 


* 


COL. SMITH. What are you doing here, if you do* 
not own the house —do you live here ? 

SWITCH. No, sir ; no—only visiting, sir. Spare my 
life, gentlemen ; spare my life. I am a poor harmless 
person. 

COL. SMITH. Let him go ! Ladies, I wish to make 
a disagreeable duty as pleasant as possible. Have you 
any arms or stores ? 

MBS. W. We have this musket, sir. 

COL. SMITH. Is that all ? Sergeant, take this 

• ♦ 

musket. 

PARSON B. There are no stores here , I assure yon, 
sir. 

COL. SMITH. Who are you ? The master of the 
house ? 

PARSON B. No, sir I am the pastor of the village 
—an Unitarian clergyman. 

MAJOR P. Colonel, thev have the whole damned 
brood of Puritans here, it seems. Preacher and school¬ 
master. Pah ! 

LIEUT. M. There are ladies present, Major. 

MAJOR P. What’s that to you,, sir ? 

LIEUT. M. Beg pardon (touches hat). 

COL. SMITH. Release the Puritan, Sergeant. 

MAJOR P. Got out of bed at this hour in the* 
morning to chase a parcel of skulking Rebels, whom we 
never see, and hunt for stores we never find ! Where- 
are the rabble ? 

CONTENT. You will see them soon enough. 

PRIS. Content, be quiet !' 

MAJOR P. Hullo! Who said that? You—you 
little Rebel—did you say that ? They are forward 
misses, these provincial girls.. Why, Melville, you seem 
to know these people. 

LIEUT. M. Yes ; I have met these y^oung ladies in 
Boston. 

MAJOR P. Oh, ho! Well, madame, where is the- 
master of this house ? 


\ 


35 


MRS. W. My husband is up at Lexington, with his 
two sons. 

CONTENT. IV here you will see them, and they will 
speak for themselves, I’ll warrant. 

MAJOR P. Again, Miss Impertinence ! 

COL. S. Then you are the mistress, and can, per¬ 
haps, give us a little wherewith to break our fast. I will 
not search, since you give me your words that you have 
no stores or arms. 

SWITCH. Allow me a few words, Colonel. ( Whis¬ 
pers) —There are stores in the barns. 

COL. S. What! Madame, you have been deceiving 
me. I have no orders to punish any one out here, ex¬ 
cept for resistance to the execution of our commands ; 
but had I authority, I should consider this concealment 
worthy of attention. And as for you, air, for a clergy¬ 
man, methinks you set a poor example to your flock. 

CONTENT (to Switch). You wretch ! 

COL. S. Lieut. Melville, take a file of soldiers and 
follow this good fellow. He will direct you. 

LIEUT. M. (to Switch.) Come along. (Aside )— 
What a traitor ! He deserves to be hung. 

[Exeunt Mel., Switch, Sergeant and Soldiers. 

COL. S. Now, young ladies, we must trouble you to 
set us out the best you have, and quickly, too. 

(No one moves.) 

MAJOR P. What is this ? Rebellion again ? Even 
the women are a headstrong lot. Come, go to work 
now. Do you hear ? Is this your famous American 
hospitality ? 

CONTENT (aside). I will not budge. 

MARY (aside). Nor I. 

MAJOR P. Must we force you ? ( Approaches Con¬ 

tent.) 

PARSON B. Stand back, sir. 

COL. S. No violence, Major. We will help our- 
selves. 


36 


MAJOR P. You always were a soft-hearted man,. 
Colonel. Where is the breakfast ? (Looks round.) 

PARSON B. Mrs. Whitley, we had better provide 
them what we have ; they will be the sooner gone. Re¬ 
member the war has not as yet begun. 

* % 

MRS. W. Come, children, if we must wait upon the 
oppressors of our country. 

MAJOR P. Oh, you have come to your senses at 
last, have you ! A damned, obstinate,, pig-headed lot,, 
these colonists. Were I King George, I would hang a 
few of them, to teach the rest better manners. 

(The officers consult aside,, while Mrs. W. and the girls 

lay the table.) 

CONTENT. I would they might choke themselves — 
the wretches. 

PRIS. Hush, Content; they may hear you. 

MARY. Hurry, girls. 

CONTENT. Where are the plates, Mary ? 

MARY. Here. 

( Women busy themselves with breakfast i) 

COL. S. In my opinion,, the best plan will be to fire, 
should they stand, or give us any excuse. The lesson 
will have the better effect for a little blood to wash it 
down with. 

MAJOR P. Exactly my opinion. Q\iick and sharp 
has always been my motto in these little difficulties. 

MRS. W. Sirs, your breakfast is prepared. 

MAJOR P. Sit down, Colonel. Bacon, bread and 
cold potatoes I Pah l Bit of bacon, Colonel ? 

COL. S. Thanks. A poor breakfast, surely.. How¬ 
ever, we’ll have a hot one in Lexington. 

CONTENT. Yes, you’ll have it hot in Lexington. 
COL. S. Eh? What? 

MAJOR P. Nothing to drink ? Have you no wine 
or beer ? 


37 


PARSON B. The habits of onr people are simple, 
sir ; we are God-fearing and temperate, and do not tip¬ 
ple your intoxicating poisons to steal away our souls. 

MAJOR P. Steal away your souls! You have no¬ 
souls, Puritan ^ they are King George’s. 

MRS. W. We have some cider, sir. 

MAJOR P. Baht Cider? Thank you, Madame. 
We must do our best with our flasks, Colonel. ( To 
Content) —A glass here. 

CONTENT. A glass, indeed L Get it for yourself. 
I am no servant. 

COL. S. Major, we will help ourselves. We are the 
servants to your beauty, young lady. Soldiers are 
always the slaves of that. Major, these are ladies, re¬ 
member. 

MAJOR P. Ladies L I call them Rebels. Where 
are those glasses ? 

(Gets glassts from cupboard , and fils them from flask.) 

L Enter Melville. 

LIELTT. MEL. The stores are all destroyed. 

COL. S. That is well. Now for Lexington. How 
far is it from this ? You were out here lately. Lieuten¬ 
ant, I believe. 

LIEUT. M. About three miles, sir. The troops have 
all come up, and are ready to advance ; they burnt a 
barn below, with flour in it. The scouts bring in word 
that the Colonists are all drawn up in line on Lexington. 
Green, seemingly prepared to give us battle. 

COL. S. Aha L To give us battle L They shall have 
their way. Lieutenant, order the battalion to advance, 
and bid the fifers strike up—what’s this their tune ? 

MAJOR P. Yankee Doodle—ha-ha !. 

COL. S. Yes, Yankee Doodle. Bid them play it. 
Forward L 

[Exit Lieut. Melville. 

MAJOR P. Our brandy first. ( They take glasses .) 


38 


COL. S. Here is confusion to these Rebels, Major, 
( Drinks.) 

MAJOR P. ( putting water in glass.) I want a spoon. 
Get me a spoon, one of you women. (No one moves.) 

Humpli ! My finger will do as well. I mean to stir 
this damned Yankee blood as I stir this, before to-night. 
( Drinks.) 

COL. S. Forward, Major ; we must be off. 

( The hand is heard to play “ Yankee Doodle.") 

MAJOR P. (at door.) A lovely morning, Colonel, for 
our work. 

[Exeunt Col. S. and Major P. 

MARY. Oh, mother ! this is dreadful. 

MRS. W. My child ! My child ! 

PARSON B. My children, let us pray that our 
Heavenly Father will watch over and preserve all those 
we hold dear during this hazardous day, and turn the 
thoughts and actions of all these His people from bitter¬ 
ness and bloodshed. Hear, O Lord ! Hear us. 

OMNES. Amen. 

CURTAIN. 


Between lid and Illd Acts, there is an interval of a 

few hours. 



39 


ACT III. 

Scene — The samp. Windoivs closed with heavy shutters , 

with loop-holes ; door tarred. 

Time — Afternoon , 19 tli April. 

Content and Mary are discovered , Content standing 
on settee r looking through loop-hole in shutter; Mary 
seated , hands covering her face. 

CONTENT. Now they have all passed, Mary; and 
I think the cannon have gone too. I have not heard 
them for some time. Look up, dear; it is al! over now, 
I am sure. 

MABY. I can’t—I can’t. Oh, Content! Is it not 
terrible? To think that perhaps father or Abel or John 
may be killed l Just think only yesterday we were all 
so happy, and everything was so bright and pleasant; 
and now half the village is burnt, and all is misery! 
Oh, Content, Content! what dreadful, dreadful creatures 
men are f—to be so hard and cruel to each other. 
(Distant shots are heard.) Can you see any one now ? 
I still hear some shots. 

CONTENT. No; they have all disappeared. The 
last of them were running, and they were so proud and 
brave this morning, with belts and epaulets. Oh, look ! 
Here are some men without any coats, stealing along 
behind the walls aud hedges. Why they are firing— 
they are our men. Mary, look here! Now there are a 
lot of them. 

(Shots. Mary looks out loop-hole.) 

MABY. That is Epli Wood, with the kerchief round 
his head, and Mr. Hosmer. Where can father and the 
boys be Y 

[Enter Mrs. W. and Priscilla, left. 

MBS. W. Content and Mary, get down immediately. 
You will be hit by some chance shot. Jump down. 
(Mary jumps down.) 


a 


40 


CONTENT. There is no firing this way now ; it is 
all over. Let me look out, auntie; I can’t be quiet 
■else. 

PHIS. Content, how can you expose yourself so ? 

. CONTENT, There is no danger now. 

MRS. W. My children, we have had a wonderful 
escape. We are so near the road, I thought we certainly 
should be burnt up with our home; but when these 
murderous men marched up, they did not stop, but 
pushed ahead for Lexington, not thinking of resistance, 
and coming back-- 

CONTENT. They had not time to stop. I suspect 
they were in a hurry for their dinners, since they had 
cold breakfasts. 

MRS. W. God grant John and my poor boys have 
escaped as providentially ; it rests with Him alone. 

PR IS. I hope—I think they have, Auntie. 

MRS. W. We shall know very soon now. The Brit¬ 
ish are evidently retreating, and will go back to Boston. 
They should be quickly here, if they are alive. 

CONTENT. Here they are! Here comes John. I 
am so glad he is not hurt. 

MRS. W. Thank God ! One of them, at least, is 
safe. 

PRIS. Open the door—let us open the door. 

(Mary and Priscilla unbar door.) 

CONTENT. And Abel, too, and some one with them. 
His arm is hurt; they are holding him up on a horse. 
Who can it be ? (Jumps down from settee.) 

MRS. W. Oh, Mary ! Can it be your father ? 

[Enter Abel and John, with Melville, left arm in sling . 

PRIS. Harry Melville !—a prisoner. 

MRS. W. Abel—my boy—and John, both safe ; and 
your father—where is he—where is he, Abel ? 

ABEL. All safe, mother. Father stayed at Concord, 
where all is excitement and confusion. He will be here 
presently, as soon as affairs are quieter there. 



41 


CONTENT. And you beat them, did you not, Abel? 
How brave of you ! 

ABEL. Yes—I think we had the better of it. 

PEIS, (aside.) Are you prisoner, Harry ? 

MEL. Yes, Priscilla ; I am your cousin’s prisoner. 
He took me fairly, but not until my arm was hurt. 

PHIS. You are wounded. Oh, Harry, does it hurt 
you very much ? 

MEL. No, not much—a little ; a flesh wound. 

ABEL. Sit down here, Lieutenant. 

MEL. Thank you, Mr. Whitley. (Sits doion feebly.) 

PHIS. Shall I bathe it—may I bathe it, Abel ? 

ABEL. Yes, cousin, if you wish ; it will do it good. 

(Priscilla gets water; Abel watches them.) 

(Aside). How she loves him ! 

CONTENT. So, Master John, you have come back. 

JOHN. Yes, Content; are you glad? 

CONTENT. Hum—I don’t know. You might have 
contrived to die for your country; it would have been 
so noble, you know; and then I could have loved you 
for your bravery, and never married, or something like 
that. Now you have come back in a most prosaic man¬ 
ner. Why, you are not even wounded. 

JOHN. Ih ave a chance to be killed yet. We must 
be off immediately. Mary, dear, get me a bit of bread 
and bacon. 

CONTENT. Be off immediately! What do you 
mean? The British have all gone ; the battle is over. 

MARY (brings food). Yes, John; what do you mean ? 
Surely it is not necessary to fight again. 

MRS. W. John—John, do not deceive us. 

JOHN. We must drive them back into town, to 
teach them not to come again. I am in earnest. 

ABEL. John is right; we have but a few moments 
to stay. 


* 


42 


MRS. W. Surely you are not going out again, Abel ? 
You must not go. I have borne bravely all the trials of 
this clay, and cannot bear any more anxiety, Abel. Re¬ 
member, my son, I am old, and not as strong as I nsed 
to be. There are enough without you, Abel. You are 
so tired, too. Don’t go, Abel. Say you will not go, my 
boy ; it will kill me. 

ABEL. Mother, we must go ; we must see the En¬ 
glish back to their hole, and deepen the effect of the 
lesson we have now but begun to teach them. We must 
go. We shall be back in a few hours, at the most. 

MRS. W. But the prisoner—what will you do with 
him ? You must stay to guard him. See, you cannot 

g°- 

ABEL. I have thought of that, and shall leave John 
here. We must spare him; I see no help for it. 

JOHN. Leave me here among the women to guard a 
prisoner ! No, no—I go at any hazard ; you may stay, 
as you like, but I am going. 

ABEL. You must be left, I am afraid, John ; he will 
escape ; it is important we should hold him. 

MEL. {aside.) Very interesting moment for me, this. 

JOHN {impatiently). Important or not, I go, and we 
are now losing precious time. You may be spared as 
well as I, if one must stay. 

CONTENT. Stay, John ; it is not so bad to be, 
among the women, sir. We will wait upon you, and 
you shall have a splendid hot supper. 

JOHN {contemptuously). Hot supper. 

CONTENT. I will be very kind, John ; I will give 
you a kiss—there now. You will stay, won’t you, 
Johnny ? 

JOHN. No, no, Content—would you have me a cow¬ 
ard ? Even you cannot tempt me. 

ABEL. What shall I do ? I cannot remain myself. 
Will you give your word, sir, not to escape ? 


43 


MEL. I cannot do that, Mr. Whitley;. I am bound 
to do my very best to escape from your custody, or at 
least to keep back one of you to guard me ; it is my 
duty to do so. Did you know better the rules of war, 
you would see that. I am very sorry, but I cannot give 
my parole. 

PEIS. Oh, Harry, give your word. 

ABEL (aside). Harry! 

MEL. No, Priscilla; I am only slightly wounded * 
my duty to my King forbids me to promise, while there 
remains a chance of my being of any service. I will not 
give my word. 

ABEL. I will not press you, then, Lieutenant; but 
what can I do, though? If Parson Brown were only 
here, but he is at Concord. 

MABY. Leave him, and you go, if you must, Abel ; 
we will guard him. I can fire a musket with the best of 
you. Lock him in the store-closet here, and I’ll warrant 
he shall not escape. 

MEL. (aside.) What a blood-thirsty young woman ! 

JOHN. Yes, yes—that is it; Mary shall guard him ! 
A Yankee girl shall hold a British officer—ha-ha ! In 
here, if you please, Lieutenant—ha-ha ! 

MEL. Very well, sir. Bu-what a dark hole ! 

PHIS. But his arm—his wounded arm ; he will die. 

JOHN. He will not give his word ; we musk do the 
best we can'. 

ABEL. It needs must be so. 

JOHN. You can sit on the flour-barrel, Lieutenant. 

MEL. So I can! (Aside) —What a disgrace ! (Shrug¬ 
ging his shoulders.) Fortune of war. 

JOHN (shutting him in closet and bolting door). Hi» 
arm must cure itself for the moment. Come, Abel, we 
must be off; we are left behind already in the chase. 

ABEL. Good-bye, mother ; we will return all safely, 
never fear. 

OMNES. Good-bye! 


>#> 



44 


ABEL (aside)- Be careful of Priscilla, Mary ! She 
loves this Lieutenant, and, I fear, would help him to 
escape. 

MABY. Trust me, Abel— (takes musket , and,posts her¬ 
self before closet door). 

JOHN. But you have my musket. What can I do 
without that ? 

ABEL. You can pick one up ; there are plenty lying 
on the road. There is no danger now, mother ; you may 
leave all open. Father will be back from Concord 
directly, and we shall be home in a few hours, if all goes 
well, and I am sure all will go well. The Begulars are 
thoroughly demoralized ;; we shall have but a running 
fight to Boston, with little danger to the pursuers ; so 
farewell all for a short space. 

* [Exeunt John and Abel. 

MBS. W. This last farewell and new anxiety is too- 
much for me ; I am afraid I cannot bear it. 

CONTENT. You are tired, Auntie ; come up-stairs 
and lie down. Bemember how well they have fought t 
Nothing can happen to them now. 

PBIS. Yes, come up-stairs, Auntie. 

MBS. W. And leave Mary here alone ? 

MABY. I shall be perfectly safe y mother. Content 
will come back and guard with me. Priscilla, you stay 
with mother, dear. 

[Content and Priscilla lead Mrs. W. out , left . 

MABY. Poor mother! What a painful day it has 
been for her; and Priscilla, too—how much she must 
have suffered, poor girl ! So she loves this young 
officer ! How quiet she has been about it ! I think he 
is rather good-looking, and a proper sort of a man ; but 
then, a regular and officer, too. perhaps he ordered the 
soldiers to fire at Abel and John and our friends. He 
shall not escape. I wonder if this musket is loaded— 


45 


(tries it with ramrod.) Yes, it is; and the priming, how 
is that ? No, not enough powder ; I am glad I saw it. 
There should be some powder here, (goes to cupboard )— 
yes, here is a horn, ( primes gun). Now, Mr. Regular, if 
you escape, it will not be my fault. 

VOICE (smothered). Miss Mary ! Miss Mary ! 

MARY. Who is that ? Oh, the prisoner I (At closed 
door) —What do you want ? 

VOICE. A glass of water, please; I am burning 
with thirst 

MARY. Burning with thirst ! He is a fellow- 
creature. (Places gun against table , and fills glass with 
water—coming back) —How careless of me ! It may be a 
trick. How shall I give it him? 

VOICE. Please, Miss Mary, I am very faint. 

MARY. Poor fellow ! (Speaking at door) —Will you 
promise not to try to escape until you are locked up 
again ? 

VOICE. Yes, yes—quick. 

MARY (opens door). Come out, then. 

(Melville staggers out .) 

MEL. I have lost so much blood. 

MARY. Poor fellow ! Sit down here. 

( Gives him glass of water, which he drinks eagerly). 

MEL. Thank you 1 thank you ! How warm I am !. 

MARY ( feeling pulse.) Yon are feverish. 

MEL. Yes, I know it. What a nice, cool little hand 1 
(Aside) —And what a devilish pretty girl 1 ( Takes her 
hand.) What a plucky little woman you are, Miss 
Mary i 

MARY. Am I ? Thank you. But I do not like 
compliments from Regulars. Let go of my hand, sir. 

MEL. Just feel how hot my head is. 

MARY. It is hot; I will open the window. ( Unbars 
shutters and opens ivindoiv. The sun is just setting.) 


MEL. ( Talcing gun and pointing it at her.) How easily 
I could escape now. 

MARY. Oh, no—you couldn’t. 

MEL. Why not ? 

MARY. Because you have given me your promise. 
If you ever broke your word, you would have given it 
before to Abel. 

MEL. Yes, that is true ; you are quite a logician. 
(Puts down gun.) How delicious this breeze is ! You 
are an angel, Miss Mary, to treat an enemy in this kind 
manner ! 

MARY. An angel and a logician f What a contrast l 

MEL. But you are an angel. 

MARY. Am I really ? Yes (taking gun); an angel 
with a musket instead of a harp \ Come, sir—you 
promised to go back ! 

MEL. Did I promise to go back ? 

MARY. Certainly you did. 

MEL. Oh, no, I did not; 1 am quite sure I only 
promised not to try to escape until I was locked up 
again. 

MARY. But you must go back. 

MEL. Why must I ? 

MARY. Because I shall make you. You may stay 
a minute by the clock, and then I shall be obliged to 
compel you to return to your closet, Mr. Regular. 

MEL. A minute ! What a happy minute ! What 
shall I do with it ? Let me kiss your hand for a min¬ 
ute, Miss Mary 1 

MARY. Sir 1 Is this your return for my kindness in 
allowing you a moment of liberty ? Kiss my hand, 
you—a slave of a king ! You are not worthy to kiss my 
shoe! I am a free American girl, sir. 

MEL. Ha-ha ! They are a funny lot, these Colon¬ 
ists ! Well, what shall I do with my minute? 

MARY. Take a few breaths of fresh air; you will 
not have any more for some time to come, I’ll warrant. 


47 


MEL. Y es—that is a good idea ; liow nice it is ! 
That closet is very close. 

MARY. It is not so small—a good six feet by ten. 
In with you—the minute is long past. 

MEL. (rising,) Well, if I must, I must; you are a 
hard-hearted little Rebel, Miss Mary. (Aside.) I would 
I could see Priscilla for a minute ; I would use it better 
than this. 

[Mel. eiders closet; Mary bolts door. 

MARY. He would be a very nice man, were he not a 
horrid Englisman. Why do they not stay at home, and 
not come here to trouble us ? Kiss my hand, indeed 1 
and he a Regular—ugh ! Where can Content be ? 

[Enter Priscilla, left. 

PRIS. Mary, your mother is very sick ; you must go 
to her immediately. 

MARY. Very sick ! I will go to her—no, I cannot— 
the prisoner—who will guard him ? Oh, wliat shall 
Ido? 

PRIS. I will watch him ; give me the gun. Run— 
quick. 

MARY ( hesitating ). Is mother very sick ? Does she 
really need me, Priscilla? 

PRIS. Yes, dear—quick ; give me the gun; she 
wants some medicine I could not find ; she says you 
know where it is. 

MARY ( looks at her for a moment; she looJcs down). I 
see—I see it all; you are not telling me the truth, Pris¬ 
cilla ; mother does not wish to see me. Why did you 
not send Content ? No, I will not give the prisoner to 
your charge. You love him, and allow that love to con¬ 
quer all your honor, love for us—all else beside. Are 
you not ashamed, you wicked girl ? Y T ou were about to 
give him his liberty, to betray us, for the sake of a sol¬ 
dier who has been shooting your friends and country¬ 
men through this mournful day, and will do so the more 
should he escape. 


48 


PHIS. No, Mary, no—you are wrong; your mother 
is really ill. Call to Content, and ask her, Mary. I 
would not do as you have said. I love him, to be sure ; 
but when I measure that love by my duty, I am strong 
^,ud right. Trust me, darling ! I would have sent Con¬ 
tent, bat she was holding your mother, and could not 
be disturbed. Won’t you believe me ? Give me the 
gun. Go quickly. 

MARY. I will trust you, Priscilla. Forgive me for 
the suspicion. Promise me, Priscilla, you will not even 
open the door. 

PRIS. I promise you, Mary. 

MARY. Here is the gun. 

[ Exit, left. 

PRIS. And now I cannot release him! I had re¬ 
solved to do so, should I have the chance ; but I will 
not do it. And yet I love him so ! To hold him there, 
a prisoner ! No matter—I will not betray her trust in 
me. How quiet he is ! (Listens at door.) No sound. 
Perhaps he is dead 1 Shall I open the door ? No, I will 
not do it. ( Softly )—Harry! No answer. (Louder )— 
Harry ! 

VOICE. Yes, Priscilla; open the door. 

PRIS. No, Harry ; I may not. Are you well, dar- 
ling ? 

VOICE. Almost dying of fever and thirst. 

PRIS. Almost dying ! What shall I do ? 

VOICE. Open the door—quick. 

PRIS. I cannot, Harry—I must not. You are our 
prisoner. To think that he should be there wounded, 
and I who love him so, am tied by miserable duty, and 
cannot comfort or release him. (Puts gun down and 
seats herself by table.) Why did I promise ? Why do I 
hesitate ? I will open the door. He will be too weak 
to escape. (Rushes to door.) No. What is my trifling 
pain to my honor and my country’s good ? I will be 
firm. I have already been false to them once. In this 


49 


I will atone for it. (Sits down , the back of chair conceals 
her from any one coming in door.) 

[Enter Switch, cautiously. 

Switch—here. 

SWITCH. No one here ! I know the men are all 
gone. Where can he be ? If I can release him, it will 
be the making of me. (Sees Priscilla. ) Miss Priscilla 1 
Excuse me. I thought I would come to see if you were 
all safe. 

PHIS. You are a traitor, sir ! What are you doing 
here ? If you are caught, you will receive your just 
punishment. You had better get to Boston. 

SWITCH. You are very hard upon me, Miss Pris¬ 
cilla. I thought I might be of use to you—to you per¬ 
sonally. I noticed you took a certain interest in a 
handsome young officer, this morning, Miss Priscilla. 

PBIS. Sir! What is that to you ? 

SWITCH. Nothing—nothing. I only thought that, 
seeing you with a musket there, you might be, perhaps, 
performing a duty which was unpleasant to you, all the 
men being away. 

PHIS. I do not understand— 

SWITCH. And that, without your doing anything 
to assist a certain prisoner to escape, I, a very humble 
person, who am a friend of his, might help my friend 
out of a difficulty. I have his horse outside. 

PHIS. You—you have his horse outside ! Was ever 
man made like this ! A cowardly traitor, if ever I have 
heard of one. 

SWITCH. Do not be so violent, Miss Hope. You 
are at my mercy, if I choose to use force ; but force is 
not my way of accomplishing my purposes. (Aside )— 
Where can he be? I must find out. 

PRIS. At your mercy ! A miserable scribbler ! At 
your mercy ! You do not dare to touch me, sir. 


/ 


50 


SWITCH. Don’t—don’t, Miss Priscilla ; I am your 
friend. 

PRIS. My friend ! You insult the name of friend. 

SWITCH. I brought you the letter yesterday morn¬ 
ing. You knew they were about to march, and did not 
mention it. (Aside) —A happy guess. 

PRIS. How do you know it ? 

SWITCH. No matter; I know it. Ha-ha! You 
kept his secret well. You see, Miss Priscilla, there is a 
bond between us. Where is he ? 

PRIS. Go way, you miserable man; there is no 
bond between us ; if I have not done my duty well, I 
shall do it now. Go way. You will be caught, and 
then it will be hard with you. 

SWITCH. Come, girl—no nonsense now. Where 
is he ? You are right. I must not linger talking with 
you. (Approaches her menacingly.) 

PRIS. If you dare to touch me. 

SWITCH (struggling with her). Give me the gun. 
Where is he hid, you vixen ? 

PRIS. Help—Abel! Harry ! Help—Mary ! 

(As they struggle , the door is burst open , bolt flying across 

room.) 

MEL. What is this ? Away you scoundrel 1 

SWITCH. I was about 'to- free you, Lieutenant. I 
have your horse without. 

MEL. To free me ? My horse—is he without ? I 
must be off, Priscilla. I will see you in Boston, dar¬ 
ling. 

PRIS. Stop, sir ! Do not move, or I will shoot you. 

MEL. You, Priscilla! You will shoot me—I who 
love you so, whom you have often said you love better 
than life itself ! Well, shoot me, then. 

PRIS. I have promised, Melville, that you shall not 
escape, if I can prevent it. 


51 


MEL. Shoot me. Why don’t you shoot me, then ? 
I have nothing left to live for now. 

SWITCH. Don’t mind her, Lieutenant. Come— 
your horse is here ; we must get away before the men 
come back. She will not fire—come. 

MEL. You black-hearted villain ! I do not owe my 
escape to you. Clear out, and never let me look upon 
your face again, or it will be the worse for you. Go ! 

SWITCH (sneaking out). He will get over that. I 
brought the horse, and will wait by it until he lias per¬ 
suaded her.—Lovers ! I know them. If he does not eat 
his words. I’ll ride off before his eyes. 

[ Exit. 

MEL. Why don’t you shoot me, Priscilla V 

PHIS. I have no reason, if you do not try to escape. 
(Loivers gun.) 

MEL. Priscilla 1 Priscilla ! Is this your love forme? 
Now the first time it comes for trial, you turn upon me 
and keep me here a prisoner in disgrace L 

PHIS. I love you, Harry—yes ; but I love my coun¬ 
try more. How can I allow you to escape, and then 
live on, a faithless girl ? You do not love me to ask for 
such a sacrifice. 

MEL. But you are English as much as I, Priscilla. 
The Colonies will never be free; and if they should, I 
will make you an English wife. You will be my little 
wife, and live in England, dear. 

PEIS. No, no—never. I will not marry you to live 
in England, away from all my friends, with a man—an 
enemy. After this day, there can be nothing between 
us. 

MEL. (approaching her.) Priscilla, darling ! Do yon 
wish to break my heart ? Come, dear, put down that 
musket, which is not a fit companion for my little girl. 
We will argue about it, dear. You know you like to 
argue with me. (He takes musket from her.) 

[Enter Mary, left. 


52 


Mi ss Mary 1 Farewell, Priscilla, darling f I will see 
you soon. 


[.Escapes. 

PETS. Traitor ! Traitor I Stop him, Mary—stop 
him! *• 


MARY. Yes, if I can. (She seizes musket and fires out 
of icindoiv.) 

PR1S. No, not that way. 

MARY. That was the only way. So, cousin, this, 
was your solemn promise—this your faith to me, and 
love for all of us. 

PRIS. Mary, tell me—you did not hit him ? 

MARY. Hit him ? No ; I wish I had. How could 
you do so, Priscilla ? How could you tell me such an 
untruth ? 

PRIS. Was not your mother ill, Mary—was she 
not ? 

MARY. Yes, that was true; but this—this. Why 
did you open the door ? 

PRIS. I did not, Mary. „ I was true ; I kept my 
promise. He burst the door himself. See ! here is the 
bolt, torn from its staple. Look, Mary, look 1 

MARY. Yes—it w as burst from the inside. He was 
shamming faint, then. Oh, the traitor ! And you, 
Priscilla, do you love him now ? 

PRIS. Mary, he burst the door to rescue me. I 
called to him for help. 

MARY. To rescue you ! Who from ? 

PRIS. From Switch, who came to help him to 
escape. 

MARY. From Switch 1 But where is he now? 

PRIS. He turned him out. He has gone to Boston. 

MARY. To Boston ! I saw two when I fired. 
(Rushes to icindoiv.) Could it have been him ? ( Utter¬ 

ing a scream.) Oh, Priscilla, see that ! (Covers her 
face.) 


PETS, What is it ? What is it, Mary ? 

MAEY. Switch ! I shot him. I saw him crawling 
into the bushes beside the road. How dreadful! He is 
wounded—poor, harmless man. 

PETS. Not harmless, Mary. Eemember the stores 
this morning, and his attack on me but now. His pun¬ 
ishment is just. 

MAEY. Perhaps it is; but I wish I had not done it. 

[Enter Farmer W. and Parson B. 

MAEY. Oh, father ! father ! Thank God, you have 
returned. 

FAEMEE W. My poor child ! The day has been a 
hard one for you. Where is your mother, dear ? 

MAEY. Here she is. 

[Enter Mrs. W., assisted by Content. 

MES. W. At last, you have come, John. 

FAEMEE W. Yes—all safe, you see ; and we gave 
the Eegulars a famous drubbing—did we not, Parson 
Brown ? 

PAESON B. Yes, Mr. Whitley—we have done our 
. best for our country, and I think from this day we can 
truly call it our own. 

FAEMEE W. Stand round, girls, and give a round 
of cheers for the United States. Now—all together 1 
You must join, Priscilla, in spite of your officer lover. 

PEIS. Oh, I will give it, with all my heart, Uncle. 

[Enter Abel and John. 

JOHN. Let us in, too. 

MES. W. My boys ! No one hurt. This is truly a 
gift of Providence. 

ABEL. Yes—we drove them back to Boston in con¬ 
fusion, and it will be a long time before they risk their 
skins out here again. But how about the prisoner ? 


54 


MARY. He burst the door and escaped. 

PARSON B. The prisoner! What prisoner? 

ABEL. Lieut. Melville, whom I captured. 

FARMER W. And he has escaped ! Well, so. mucL 
the better. I don’t know what we could have done with 
him in this old house. But he should have taken some 
one with him, seems to me. 

CONTENT. Who, Uncle ? 

FARMER W. Why, your sister there. 

PRIS. Now, Uncle John, you are too severe. 

FARMER W. I half suspect you let him go. 

MARY. Indeed, she did not. 

JOHN. If he be free, we are all free also. So we- 
must not grudge it him. 

FARMER W. So we are. Hurrah ! 

OMNES. Hurrah ! 

PARSON B. We are a free people from this day. 
Let us take care that, as a people, we continue to merit 
our good fortune; and may the day never come when 
any tyrant shall again oppress us—whether he call him¬ 
self king or magistrate of any name. 

JOHN. We shall have some more fighting though, I 
hope. 

CONTENT. You have had enough fighting, Master 
John. You must stay quietly at home hereafter. 

JOHN. All right—with you, Content. 

PARSON B. Do not let us forget, in the midst of 
our good fortune, to thank the One above to whom w’e 
owe it. (All bow.) 

Oh, Heavenly Father! We thank Thee for Thy 
watchful care over all of us during this day. We com¬ 
mit to Thy mercy all those whom Thou hast seen fit to 
take away from us in the execution of their duty. And 
we beg of Thee to keep and preserve us and this Thy 
new people, as long as shall befit Thy inscrutable 


« 



55 


benevolence, making them to live Tliy perfect life and 

follow Thv commandments. 

• * 

OMNES.* Amen. 


CURTAIN . 









THE 

NEW ENGLANDERS; 

(Boroedii of the Revolution. 

IN THREE ACTS. 

BY E. M. DAVISON. 


FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION. 


COLLINS & BROTHER, 
414 Broadway, New York. 


18 8 2 . 

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